


A Man Whose Job Is To Serve, A Person Who Waits For A Time

by newbie93



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Less Than 5K, The FitzSimmons Network, Tumblr Exchange, Waiter/Waitress AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 15:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4226520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newbie93/pseuds/newbie93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo Fitz would do just about anything for his best friend, but switching shifts with Jemma so that she can go on a date with someone that is decidedly NOT him isn’t exactly something he enjoys doing… which he decides to make perfectly clear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Man Whose Job Is To Serve, A Person Who Waits For A Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lucyrinner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucyrinner/gifts).



> This is a fic written for the, "More Than That, Less Than 5K," exchange on Tumblr. 'Tis a gift for the wonderful lucyrinner whose prompt was, “Restaurant AU where they’re both servers and best friends, but they secretly love each other.”
> 
> The title is basically just two definitions of the word WAITER.

“Fitz!” 

He whips around at the sound of his name and beams when he sees his best friend (and low-key love of his life) heading in his direction with a smile on her face. She’s already changed into her uniform, a true feat considering her last class of the day had ended a mere 30 minutes ago, and her hair is neatly pinned back in a way that makes the smooth skin of her throat that much more visible. 

Fitz gulps, as he always does, at the sight and hastily resumes his task so that Jemma won’t notice the effect she has on him. He’s washing the bar with an old rag, likely making the marble counter more dirty than clean, and his movements slow before coming to a stuttering stop when Jemma plops herself on a stool in front of him. 

She’s grinning up at him with a smile that seems to encompass her entire face, eyes twinkling and nose scrunching in a manner that entrances Fitz each time he sees it. She props her elbows on the counter, resting her chin in her hands, and gazes at him with an affection that causes his heart to hammer in his chest. 

“Fitz, you’re my best friend in the world.” 

She’s looking at him sincerely but this isn’t Fitz’s first rodeo where Jemma Simmons is concerned and he _knows_ that there’s likely another motive behind her words other than just being kind. He sighs in slight exasperation and slowly shakes his head at her in mock disappointment, frowning slightly and arching an eyebrow as he crosses his arms over his chest. 

Jemma immediately straightens on the stool, lifting her head off her hands and widening her eyes at Fitz’s reaction. 

“What?!” 

Fitz places his hands on the counter and leans forward, leveling Jemma with a look that immediately causes her to bite her lip. He knows this move and it only confirms his suspicion that Jemma’s up to something.

“You only say _that_ sentence and give me _that_ look when you want something from me.” 

Jemma shifts her eyes slightly, lip still trapped between her teeth, and Fitz knows that he’s got her. 

“Spill it Simmons.” 

She sighs and looks at him for a moment before leaning forward again and looking at him with doe eyes that Fitz knows spell trouble.

“I was hoping you might be willing to switch shifts with me this weekend? I’ll take your Saturday morning shift if you take my Friday evening one? Please?” 

Her expression is so absurdly hopeful that Fitz almost laughs at the request. He’d thought it’d be something a bit more deserving of her bitten lip and inquiring look, and is slightly relieved that Jemma is asking something so easy of him. In the nearly four years that they’ve known each other, Fitz has realized that he’ll do just about anything if it means making Jemma happy. Covering her shift is something that he’s more than willing to do if it means she’ll look at him with that bright grin and twinkling eyes. 

“Is that all? Yeah sure I’ll switch with you, I bloody _hate_ that morning shift.” 

Jemma claps her hands in delight and launches across the bar to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek that leaves Fitz gobsmacked. 

“Oh Fitz, thank you! You’re the absolute best, don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.” 

The lingering blush from Jemma’s impromptu kiss intensifies with her words and Fitz flicks his eyes to his feet as his hand instinctually moves to rub at his neck. 

“Yeah, yeah. Tell that to me when I’m notdoing you a favor and maybe I’ll believe it.” 

He looks back up at Jemma with a self-deprecating grin that she rolls her eyes at with an, “Oh Fitz.” 

Fitz gives her a blushing smile before grasping the rag to resume wiping the counter in a bid to stop himself from doing anything embarrassing in front of Jemma. “So why the switch-up? I thought you liked working Fridays since the tips are so great.” 

Jemma reaches over the counter, grabbing a maraschino cherry and popping it into her mouth with a contented hum. She chews for a moment, Fitz doing his very best not to stare at the movement of her lips, before swallowing and nodding along to his statement. 

“Yes I _do_ like working Fridays, but it just so happens that _this_ Friday, I have a date.” 

Fitz’s head snaps up at this and he stares at Jemma in surprise, a painful feeling working its way through his chest, before shifting his expression into one that he _hopes_ doesn’t betray his complete and utter dismay over her news. “What? With who?”

“You know that guy Michael in our physics class?”

_You mean the guy that spends every lecture ogling at you?_

“Umm… vaguely.” 

“Well today after you left for engineering, I hung back to talk to Professor Weaver and _Michael_ hung back to talk to me. We started chatting and then he asked me to dinner. He really is quite well-formed and symmetrical so I had no reason to say no.” 

Fitz swallows at this, mind instantly running through the _other_ well-formed and symmetrical boyfriends that Jemma has had over the years, and ducks his head as he scrubs at non-existent spot on the counter. 

“Right. No reason at all.” 

Jemma’s silent for a moment, which Fitz appreciates because it means that he won’t have to concentrate on keeping his voice carefully modulated while responding to whatever it is she has to say. After he’s scrubbed the counter to an unbelievable degree, he tosses the rag into a bucket in the corner and looks back up at his friend. 

Her eyes are fixed on him and there’s an expression on her face that Fitz has seen a few times but had never been able to make sense of. He still can’t, not even now, so he does what he always does and blinks at her silently in the hopes that today might be the day she actually explains it. Instead, Jemma does what _she_ always does and shakes her head slightly before giving him a small smile, one that decidedly _does not_ reach her eyes, and murmuring something about setting the tables for tonight’s dinner service. 

She turns to walk away and Fitz is suddenly overwhelmed with a need to stop her. “Jemma!” 

She spins around immediately with an eager expression that leaves Fitz breathless. “Yeah?” 

He looks at her for a moment and desperately wishes to confess every feeling he’s kept hidden since they’d first met. He wants to tell her that he’d had a crush on her since the second he’d locked eyes with her in that first chem lecture and that said crush has grown into an all-consuming love that is now threatening to choke him. 

_Then_ he thinks about how saying such things would likely ruin the best relationship he’s ever had in his life, so he swallows the words down and shakes his head as he runs his hand through his hair. 

“Oh… uh, nev… nevermind. Sorry.” 

He glances back up in time to see Jemma’s face fall slightly and Fitz wonders what it is she had expected him to say. She nods her head once before turning back around and walking towards the dining area. 

They spend the rest of the evening in an awkward bubble of silence and tension that Fitz wishes he had the strength to pop. 

-O-

 Come Friday evening, Fitz is grateful for the busyness of the restaurant because it means that he’s distracted enough _not_ to wonder about what Jemma and _Michael_ will be doing tonight on the date that _he_ wishes he had the guts to take her on. 

He works diligently, bringing out all of the charm he can to ensure that the patrons will have a nice time and _he_ will have a nice tip as a result. It’s one of the better shifts he’s taken on, meaning that in almost no time at all it instantly transforms into one of the worst. 

He’s chatting with Trip at the bar when Skye comes up to them with a grin and a, “Holy hell, how smokin’ does Jemma look tonight?” 

Fitz doesn’t look up from where he’s loading a tray with the drinks that Trip is steadily making, instead hoping that she’ll be able to _hear_ his eye roll. He speaks up and _knows_ that she’ll hear his scoff and accompanying, “Jemma’s not working tonight Skye.” 

Skye plucks an olive from the little jar beside Trip’s elbow and munches on it, not bothering to swallow before parrying Fitz with her rebuttal. “True… but she _did_ just walk through the door in a little black dress that’s making most of the patrons, _and_ the man-meat she’s draped over, drool a bit.” 

The comment causes Fitz to whip around in surprise as Trip lets out a low whistle at the sight of Jemma walking into the dining area of the restaurant, arm-and-arm with the physical embodiment of tall, dark, and handsome. 

Fitz immediately thinks that Skye’s assessment of Jemma’s appearance was an understatement that didn’t do her the least bit of justice. 

She looks positively stunning and Fitz can’t tear his eyes away from the image of Jemma Simmons in _that_ dress. His mouth drops open at the sight and he silently prays to the god he doesn’t believe in that Kara isn’t directing the couple to the table he _thinks_ she’s leading them to. 

The reserved table. 

The reserved table that’s in _his_ section. 

Of course, this means that she does exactly that and Fitz feels his heart begin to hammer in his chest at the realization that he’s just become an unwilling participant in Jemma’s date with Michael man-meat. 

“No… no, no, no. This isn’t happening…” 

Fitz watches the hulking mass pull out Jemma’s chair for her and feels as though he’s been shot in the heart when she gives him a beaming smile in response. 

“How… they… their date is _here?!”_

Normally he’d be embarrassed at how high his voice is, but in this moment Fitz is far more concerned with figuring out what awful thing he’d done in his past life to warrant having to watch his love in _this_ life have a romantic dinner with another guy. 

“Yeah, Bobbi ran into Jemma while that stud-muffin was parking the car and apparently our science-princess didn’t have the heart to tell him that the restaurant he’d gotten a reservation at was the very restaurant that she _works_ at. Too funny, huh? I mean, what are the chances right?” 

Fitz shakes his head ruefully, “For me? A hundred-fucking-percent.” 

Skye and Trip both blink their eyes in surprise at Fitz’s bitter response and he watches as they exchange a bewildered look in his peripheral vision. 

“Woah… what’s with the infamous Scottish temper Fitz?” 

Skye nudges him and he flits his gaze to her, only allotting a second to take in her concerned expression before grabbing the tray of drinks and stalking off with a muttered, “Forget it.” 

He carries the drinks to their respective tables, intentionally avoiding looking over at table 25 until he absolutely has to. He all but drops the last mojito in front of the elderly cougar at table 19 and sighs in defeat as he realizes that it’s now time to take care of the newest patrons in his section. 

He doesn’t have the energy to fake the smile he’s been wearing all night and instead settles for an impassive expression as he trudges his way over to Michael and Jemma. 

He stops just next to the table and cringes when Jemma’s eyes lock on his. 

“Hello… umm. My name’s Leo, I’ll be your server this evening.” 

Michael looks up with a grin and an eager, “Fitz! Hey man! Good to see ya buddy. I didn’t know you work here!” 

“Yeah uh… yup. I work here. Though… not usually on Fridays.” 

He glances over at Jemma who has the decency to look _slightly_ sympathetic but Fitz knows that it has more to do with their switched shifts than the fact that he’s having to serve her date as a result. 

“Oh man, must be your lucky night then! You get to run into me and Jem…” 

_Jem?!_

“… _and_ you’ll get a sweet tip. My parents raised me right Fitz, always told me the importance of giving working class people their due.” 

“Right… lucky _me_.” 

Michael doesn’t catch the sarcasm in his voice but Jemma sure as hell does and she shoots him a look that has Fitz rolling his eyes in response. He turns to her suitor with a blank expression and mentally tells himself that he only has to make it through 60-90 minutes of this agony. 

“Can I start you off with something to drink? Wine, beer… _some formaldehyde perhaps?”_

The last part is said lowly under his breath, too quiet for Michael to catch but _just_ loud enough for Jemma to hear. Her eyes narrow slightly and Fitz shrugs while clenching his jaw before turning back to Michael at the sound of the other man’s voice.

“Sorry man, I didn’t hear that last one. Can you repeat it?” 

Fitz gives him a fake smile as he nods in assent. “Yeah sure, the _Formal Hyde_ wine. It’s a lovely 2007 Chardonnay. I’ve heard only good things.” 

He shoots Jemma a smug look, more than pleased by his ability to recover from his potentially embarrassing stunt, but the grin falters at her displeased expression and vanishes completely when Michael reaches across the table to grasp her hand. 

“Jem?”

Fitz watches as her gaze shifts from him to Michael and clenches his fist as she raises an eyebrow and leans forward slightly to better hear her date. “Hmmm?”

“Does that sound good with you?” 

Michael is giving her a charming smile that makes Fitz want to bash his head against _anything_ and Jemma is nodding along eagerly. 

“Oh! Yes that sounds absolutely wonderful.”

She and Michael turn in unison to face him and Fitz feels his face drop at the sight. He’s grown used to people commenting on how _he_ and Jemma are so often in sync and doesn’t like having to watch her move in synchrony with someone else. He swallows once and nods his head slowly as he focuses in on Michael, suddenly unable to look at Jemma. 

“Great! By the glass or would you like a bottle for the table?” 

The other man grins and claps Fitz on the arm with a, “Make it a bottle Fitzy, tonight’s my cheat-day.” 

Fitz wants to gag, both at the unwanted nickname and the following comment, and just barely manages to keep himself from doing so. He picks up the wine menu from the table and grimaces slightly as he straightens. 

“ _Wonderful_.” 

Jemma shoots him another glare that Fitz refuses to acknowledge, instead focusing on keeping his face from showing how miserable he’s suddenly feeling.

He sighs once and gives them a small smile, trying to make it at least somewhat believable, and the effort doesn’t seem to be lost on Jemma. Her glare is gone in an instant and is replaced with a concerned look that makes Fitz think he might not be doing that good of a job at keeping the pain off of his face. He swallows again, ripping his eyes from Jemma, and mumbles, “I’ll be right back with that while you two peruse the menu,” before spinning around, getting across the room and away from _them_ as quickly as he can. 

He ignores Skye and Trip’s questioning glances and snatches the requested bottle of wine from the rack before heading back to the table, each step feeling like a punch to the stomach. 

He doesn’t look at Jemma when he fills her glass with wine, _barely_ looks at her when he takes her order, and makes Hunter deliver her meal while he drops off Michael’s.

At one point when he’s refilling the couple’s glasses halfway through their main course he thinks he feels her eyes on him, tracking his every movement, but he just places the bottle back in the ice bucket when he’s done and moves to another table without looking up to confirm his suspicion. 

He makes it through the remainder of the service avoiding Jemma’s questioning eyes and _Skye’s_ questioning- _questions,_ and holds his breath when he begins clearing the table. He’s _praying_ that he’ll be able to put an end to this evening without any more exchanges, and sighs in disappointment when Jemma quietly asks about seeing a dessert menu. 

He nods silently, assuming she’ll take the motion to mean that he’ll bring one out to her, and balances the empty plates on his arms as he makes his way towards the kitchen. He feels himself grow increasingly tense with each passing second and _also_ feels the way that his misery seems to quickly transform into anger. 

She _knows_ that he’s not enjoying this. _Knows_ that he’s done everything he can to shorten this evening, and yet she’d asked for a damn _dessert_ menu. She’d essentially asked him for something that would add another twenty minutes to her date and Fitz finds himself irritated by the realization. 

Jemma Simmons is his best friend and, more than anything else, he just wants her to happy. But that doesn’t mean _he_ has to be happy about the first-row seat to her date that he’s been forced into tonight. 

He’s fuming by the time he returns to table 25 and thrusts the smaller menu at Michael and Jemma with a red face and a clenched jaw. Jemma raises her eyebrows at him in surprise and even Michael seems to have _finally_ caught on to Fitz’s general irritation. 

“We’re out of the lava cake, the fruit platter is shit, and the angel cake is leftover from yesterday. I’d stick with the ice cream sundae.” 

The words are biting and Fitz couldn’t care less. His gaze flits between Michael and Jemma, never pausing for more than a second on each, and he waits impatiently as they stare back at him with varying expressions of shock. After a moment Michael coughs and shoots Jemma a small smile before speaking. 

“I actually think I’m going to pass on dessert. It may be cheat-day but I don’t want to cause _too_ much damage.” 

“No, we certainly wouldn’t want that. It’d be a shame to mess with that low body-fat percentage. What about you, what do _you_ want Simmons?”

Michael lets out an uneasy chuckle and Jemma’s mouth drops open as she stares at him in shock. Fitz keeps his eyes locked on hers, no longer interested in breaking their eye contact as soon as possible, meaning he sees the exact moment that Jemma’s anger overtakes whatever other emotions she’s been feeling. 

“On second thought, _Leo,_ I think we’ll just forego dessert entirely and take the check instead.” 

Fitz’s eyes narrow at the use of his first name but he jumps at the chance to get rid of Michael and Jemma as soon as he can. 

“Perfect! Here.” 

He grabs the other binder from under his arm and slams it on the table before moving to stomp his way over to the register to wait. He doesn’t even turn around before Michael is hastily calling out his name and shoving a few bills into the binder. 

“I’m paying in cash today Fitz. Keep the change.” 

Fitz picks up the binder and nods resolutely as he says, “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” before turning away and stalking across the restaurant.

He hands off the binder to Skye to put into the register and moves behind the bar to fill himself a glass of water that he downs without blinking. He can see Michael helping Jemma into her jacket and watches with rapt attention as they make their way to the exit. As they do, Jemma catches his eye and her gaze hardens immediately. She turns to say something to Michael who nods eagerly and heads outside, no doubt to be the gallant gentleman who picks up his date in his fancy car to save her from walking twenty feet in heels. 

Jemma watches her date until he leaves before turning around and pinning Fitz down with a glare that could rival Medusa. She walks over towards him with purpose, livid face unchanging as she expertly weaves her way through the restaurant until she’s standing in front of him. 

“What the _hell_ is your problem Fitz?!” 

He internally laughs at the irony of _Jemma_ asking what his problem is before pushing himself from the wall he’d been leaning on and moving towards Simmons, face a perfect reflection of the anger that is etched into hers.

“My problem? My problem, Simmons, is _you_! I bend over backwards doing whatever I can to make you happy. I bring you soup when you’re sick, I fix your dishwasher whenever it starts acting funny, I even helped you with that last dissection even though I _hate_ that stuff! I never forget your birthday, I take your parents out whenever they come to visit, and I _always_ know when to have a pot of tea ready for you on bad days.” 

Jemma’s eyes widen and she opens her mouth to retort but Fitz is too riled up at this point to let her get a word in edgewise. He steps forward, face a few scant millimeters away from hers, and barrels forward with all of the emotions he’s been repressing since the start of this thing he has with Jemma Simmons. 

“And I may be your _best friend in the world_ but you’re more than that to me Jemma. You’re more than that and… and if you want to go on dates with guys who are, “ _well-formed and symmetrical_ ,” then you… you’ll just have to find some other chump to cover your shifts for you because I’m done.” 

He turns away before she has time to respond and storms out of the restaurant, biting out a, “Sorry sir,” to an open-mouthed Coulson as he does. 

-O- 

Fitz ignores all phone calls on Saturday and locks himself in his apartment, not wanting to chance seeing anyone, namely Jemma. He’s perfectly content to wallow with a pint of ice cream and an endless rotation of delivery food, so he spends the day sitting in front of his television and ignoring the outside world. 

He wakes up with a groan on Sunday and puts on his uniform before heading into the restaurant for the brunch shift. He wouldn’t have even _contemplated_ coming in were it a weekday, considering Monday through Thursday he shares the same schedule as Jemma, but the Sunday wait staff is made up of him, Mack, Hunter, and Bobbi so he doesn’t worry about having to face the wrath of anyone other than Coulson.

Which he does. 

For nearly half an hour. 

Fitz somberly sits through the lecture on responsibility and _not leaving work in the middle of a shift_ and infuses as much sincerity as he can into his promise to Coulson that he will _never_ behave like that again. The other man peers at him speculatively for a long, tense, moment before nodding his head towards the door and telling Fitz to help set up for brunch. 

He exits the manager’s office and stops in his tracks when he sees Jemma leaning against the opposite wall, straightening when she spots him. 

Fitz blinks rapidly for a few moments, his usual feeling of elation at the sight of his best friend quickly being overpowered by the lingering hurt, embarrassment, and resentment from their last exchange.

Fitz ducks his head down and quickly moves past her, walking over to the bar and grabbing the dishrag from a bucket to begin his usual task of wiping off the previous night’s grime. 

He only has a few brief moments to himself before Jemma is suddenly in his line of sight, hoisting herself onto her usual stool and tapping rhythmically against the countertop. 

It’s silent for a few moments and Fitz keeps his head down, determined not to look up because he knows that if he does, Jemma’s eyes will likely break him.

“I asked Mack to switch shifts with me.” 

Jemma’s words cut through the silence and cause Fitz to momentarily falter with his task. He keeps his eyes focused on the counter but can’t stop his natural curiosity from prompting Jemma for more information. 

“Oh, why’s that?” 

She’s silent for a long moment and Fitz can see the way that her hands are wringing in front of her, a nervous tell that he’d picked up on within the first week of their friendship. Her hands suddenly still and it’s _that_ more than anything that causes Fitz’s heart to pound in anticipation. 

“Because you said if I wanted to go on a date with someone that’s well-formed and symmetrical, I should find someone else to cover my shifts for me.”

The words are the equivalent of a steamroller to Fitz and his hand tightens on the cloth as he all but slams it onto the counter, scrubbing viciously against the marble and keeping his eyes trained on the veins that are bulging in his forearms from the strain. 

“Right. I’m glad that’s what you took from the conversation. Happy to hear that _Mack_ is now your go-to for date-related shift changes. Cheers Simmons.”

His puts all of his weight into scrubbing the now impeccable counter and doesn’t stop until Jemma’s hand gently covers his own, holding it in place and leaving Fitz somewhat stunned by the sight. He’s about to wrench his arm from her lax grip but just before he does, Jemma’s hand shifts and she tugs the rag out of his fist before prying his fingers apart and weaving her own small digits through his. 

Fitz blinks at the sight, not understanding what it means and struggling to make sense of his warring emotions. 

“So I told Mack that I wanted to go on a date with _you_ and asked if he might let me cover his brunch shift today so that you and I could _both_ have next Friday off.”

It takes a moment for him to process her words but when he does, Fitz’s head snaps up and his eyes lock on Jemma’s in astonishment. 

“Wh… what?” 

She’s staring at him with that same expression that he’s never been able to sort out and Fitz finds himself slowly realizing that _maybe_ he was actually just too blind to put the pieces together. He blinks sluggishly at her, unable to really fathom that the looks Jemma had been sending him were likely mirrors of the same ones he’d been giving her. 

His hand reflexively tightens in hers and the movement causes Jemma to glance down at their entwined fingers with a soft smile that causes something to lurch in Fitz’s chest. When she looks back up the breath leave his lungs because it finally clicks in his brain that expression currently on Jemma’s face, the one that had caused him such confusion in the past, is longing.

“You’re my best friend in the world Fitz. Have been since the beginning… but somewhere in the middle you became more than that too.” 

_She’s_ now the one squeezing _his_ hand and Fitz has never in his life been more affected by such a simple gesture. 

“R…Really?” 

His voice is raspy and uncertain but Jemma’s soft smile and nod of the head is enough to eradicate the lingering doubts in his mind. 

In fact, the sight is so encouraging that Fitz doesn’t hesitate to lean across the bar and press his lips to Jemma’s the way he’s wanted to from the start of their friendship. The hand that isn’t woven through hers immediately moves to her cheek and Fitz almost laughs when Jemma’s free hand does the same thing to him, cradling his face and stroking his cheek. Instead he just smiles into the kiss before deepening it, parting Jemma’s lips with his tongue and reveling in the moment. 

It’s _almost_ perfect but ends far too quickly for Fitz’s liking when the hard press of the bar against his ribs finally makes him pull away with a slight grimace. He doesn’t go far though, just enough to adjust his position against the marble, before leaning forward again to press a dozen soft kisses to every part of Jemma’s face he can reach despite the literal barrier that is separating them.

She lets out a fond laugh that he quickly cuts off with a firm kiss to the lips. 

The next time Fitz pulls away it’s to catch his breath. 

Jemma is positively beaming as he steadies his breathing and Fitz knows that, as is often the case with them, his own expression mirrors hers. He can feel the grin that is taking up most of his face and no longer worries about it revealing too much to the woman in front of him. 

He thinks that it might not actually be revealing _enough_ so he releases a breathy sigh and says, “I love you,” as he grasps Jemma’s hand and presses it affectionately against his cheek. 

The look she gives him in return makes his entire body feel like molten lava and he feels as though he might burst from happiness when her thumb grazes his cheek and she responds with, “Love you too.”

He smiles tenderly for a long moment before it transforms into a mischievous grin and he begins to waggle his eyebrows at her. “So… you think I’m well-formed and symmetrical huh?” 

Jemma shoots him an exasperated look, eye roll and all, and sighs out an, “Oh, Fitz,” before pressing her lips to his once more and effectively wiping the grin off his face.


End file.
